


Morriña

by pixie_rings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Denial, Homesickness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance misses Earth. Keith doesn't really have much to go back for. Lance also has feelings. They might involve Keith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morriña

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here’s another. I like writing Lance having feels, the fool boy needs to start some soul-searching, and I’m gonna make him. So have some fluff where Keith is cute, and Lance is both homesick and In Denial.
> 
> (If anything is off about Cuba, please forgive me, as I’ve never been there, though I’d like to. I reckon I’m safe with Lance’s grandparents though. Grandparent Culture is the same pretty much the world over.)

“Do you miss it?”

Lance turns, frowning. Keith is on his front, arms tucked beneath his pillow. His expression is soft, content, drowsy but not tired, and Lance privately compliments himself on a fuck well done. His skin is pale in the softened adjustable light, the sheets low around his waist. It's nice seeing Keith like this, it's nice knowing he's the only one who _can_ see Keith like this, and something warm and fuzzy and unknown bubbles up in his chest, makes his heart hurt.

Ok, _no_. No, he doesn't have the time to deal with this bullshit. He stamps on it, like he would an unwanted entomological house invader, shoves it back in its box and locks it tight, so it can't get back out. He really, really doesn't need to do _feelings_ right now. Not with _Keith_.

“Miss what?” he asks, now eager for the distraction.

“Earth,” Keith supplies.

Lance's heart clenches again, and this time it's pure pain, nothing warm and fuzzy about it. He's assaulted with so many memories, so many places and faces he misses. He looks away, towards the ceiling, arms beneath his head.

“So much,” he says, his voice hitching. He doesn't know why he said it, why he's allowing himself to show this vulnerability to _Keith_ , of all people, but he is. He can't find the strength to hide it, the way he misses so many things, so many people...

“Like what?” Keith asks. “If you want to talk about it, you don't have to...”

Something flickers across the back of Lance's mind, something that tells him Keith might be fishing for more information about him, but he doesn't pay any attention to it.

“I miss my family. A lot.” He sighs, and before he can catch himself, the words start coming. “I miss home. I mean, I missed home at the Garrison, but it was different, I could still reach it, it wasn't even that far. Now I'm stuck on the other side of the universe, trillions of lightyears away, and I can't even _talk_ to them. I might never...”

He stops. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, blinking fast, still staring at the ceiling. For a while now, he's managed to keep the memories at bay, because if he thinks of them too much, everything starts to hurt, the walls begin to close in and he feels so lost. They're there, they're always there, ignored but never forgotten, but being reminded of how far away they are, how unreachable and untouchable...

He loves his Lion, she's his baby, but sometimes he wishes he'd never found her.

To his surprise, he feels warmth on his chest, a subtle weight about sternum height. He looks down, to Keith's hand placed there. He looks to the side again, his gaze meets Keith's. Keith's thumb rubs his skin softly, and Lance swallows. He places his hand on Keith's. If he were braver, which he isn't, he'd lace their fingers together, make it so there's no space between them, but he isn't. He isn't brave.

“At least you have something to go back to,” Keith murmurs. His gaze falls away from Lance's, his face clouding over, a flicker of pain there. “I don't... really have anybody.”

Lance snorts. “You have _us_. When we get back to Earth, it's not like we're just going to... split up and go our separate ways.”

The idea of them all separating is ludicrous, and for some reason, absolutely terrifying. Together they form something so great and so important that if they just won and returned to Earth and never spoke again, it would seem so... flippant. As if Voltron didn't mean anything at all.

These thoughts are too sickening for him, so he makes light of it. Jokes are the best shield. “Besides, I'm pretty sure my _abuela_ would happily adopt you. She has so many grandchildren, one more won't hurt.” He grins.

Keith huffs, looks away, blushing. “I don't...” He sighs, shakes his head. “Tell me more about her, then, if she's going to adopt me.”

Lance chuckles, and does just that.

He tells Keith about her cooking, about how she can make something delicious out of anything. He tells him about her house, with the bars at the windows and the lazy, useless ceiling fan, the peeling shutters pulled closed to keep the inside cool, the plastic tablecloth and the crucifix on the wall. He talks about fried plantains and _moros y cristianos_ and how she always makes enough _buñuelos_ to feed an army. He talks about his _abuelo_ and his cigars, the way he sits on the corner outside the bar and plays dominoes with his friends, tipping their hats to pretty girls.

He talks about his mother and his father, of his brothers and sisters. He talks about kicking around a football probably since before he could walk, the hot summer nights spent running along cobbled streets as a child. Then, as he grew up, spending the summer nights at the clubs, inviting girls to dance, alternating between the real music played on sweet guitars and the pounding of a techno beat. He talks about the beach at Varadero, of surfing from sunrise to sunset, the amazing blue of the water and the dazzle of the sand, the simmer of the sun on his skin. He talks about watching the World Cup – because even if your country never makes it, football is still football – and _medianoches_ with his friends, and fires on the beach while someone plays a guitar. He talks of kissing girls and kissing boys, things that never last beyond summer, but had a taste that lingered.

He talks about the first time he rode a hoverbike, of taking it for a joyride, nearly crashing, the feeling of pure elation and adrenaline, how he got in trouble and was almost stopped from flying ever again. He tells Keith how his father taught him how to fly, the basics, and how he just went from there, the freedom of flight something he'd never imagined he'd need so much. Keith smiles at that, sighing like he knows how that feels. 

Finally, Lance stops talking, smiling gently, lost in memories. God, he misses it all so much it hurts.

“I want to see that stuff,” Keith says. Lance turns to him.

“You want to see Cuba?” he asks. Keith nods.

“Yeah, I want to... it sounds amazing. All I've ever really know is the Garrison and the desert.”

Lance can't stop the grin that spreads across his face. Somehow, the idea of sharing his homeland with Keith, Keith meeting his family, Keith discovering everything Lance loves, is... well, it's something that seems kind of cool. Not amazing, or anything. Just cool.

“Sure, we can go. I'll show you everything.”

Keith smiles, and there it is again, Lance's heart squeezing tight, an unstoppable force in his chest, telling him something he doesn’t want to hear. Lance flushes. Keith has no right to look that cute. 

“I can't wait,” he says.

Lance has to look away, swallowing silently, heart still thumping far too hard. Even homesickness feels better than whatever this is.


End file.
